Conversations In Cyprus
by r4ven3
Summary: 4 chapters, set 8 months after Ruth returned from Cyprus. AU story, in which Ruth has returned to Cyprus. How to get her to come home?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Characters from Spooks are not mine, but Jude Trinder is a product of my own imagination.**_

* * *

_Trinder Services, London. Office of Jude Trinder. Monday 9.03 am:_

"Malcolm. It's been -"

"Too long, Jude."

"Sit down, and tell me why you're here. I heard you'd left MI5."

"Nothing escapes you, does it?"

"Not if I can help it." Jude Trinder sat up in her executive office chair, and shuffled the papers in front of her. Her resemblance to Juliet Shaw still had the power to startle Malcolm. Jude wore her hair in the same way – wavy, natural – although hers was cut shorter that Juliet's. When Jude stood it was also easy to see how much shorter and more petite she was that Juliet, and with a rounder face, and softer mouth. _And she's an infinitely nicer person, too_, thought Malcolm, as he smiled across at his old colleague and friend.

"I'm here as a favour to an old friend."

"How old?"

"Harry Pearce."

"That old?" Jude said with one eyebrow raised. "How is the old war horse? I haven't set eyes on him in years, although information still trickles through to me from …... well, you have no need to know from where."

Malcolm smiled slightly, and then cleared his throat with a polite cough, a sign that he was about to say something he considered important, and that discretion was required. "Harry doesn't know I'm here. I retired a little over eight months ago after an …... an incident, but I still manage to keep in touch. I'm here to ask you a favour. I'll pay you, of course, but what I require will take a delicate hand, and you're the first person I thought of."

Malcolm continued with his request. When he'd finished, he looked across at Jude enquiringly. When she said nothing, he again coughed quietly into his hand. "What do you think?" he asked.

Jude Trinder pulled at the lapels of her smart suit, and then absently twisted one of her hoop earrings with the fingers of one hand, while the other fiddled with the mouse of her computer, twirling it around in circular motion on the mousepad. Malcolm knew her well enough to know that this distracted behaviour was what she did when she was thinking deeply. "What makes you think I can pull this off successfully? As you may have noticed, I'm almost permanently desk bound these days. I don't venture into the field unless someone I care about is involved, and even then, it's best I stay away. I'm not sure I'm qualified to be doing this. And don't forget, I'm also on the wrong side of fifty."

"This is hardly field work, Jude. There is no danger to speak of. Besides, I consider you to be eminently qualified, and your advanced age is a bonus." Malcolm smiled at his own reference to her age. "You have obviously forgotten the occasion when MI5 agents – Harry included – first noticed you, and decided to approach you with a view to recruiting you."

"That was a long time ago, Malcolm. I was young and a bit stupid. I thought I could do anything."

"You talked that woman off the ledge. Even the police psychologist had no luck with her. You have a gift, Jude, and I hate to see it go to waste."

Jude thought for a while, twisting her mouth and pulling at her bottom lip with her fingers while her mind worked quickly. "When do you need me to do this?"

Malcolm, smelling victory, smiled widely. "As soon as possible. Time is of the essence. Immediately would be nice."

"Immediately is impossible, but I can probably detach myself from this desk by – say – Friday. That's only four days away. I wouldn't do this for anyone other than you, you know, Malcolm. Even Harry would have to beg me on bended knee. Speaking of Harry, how much does he know about this?"

"Nothing at all," Malcolm replied, " and nor should he. He has enough on his plate at present."

"So …... and I have to ask this question …... why would you go to the trouble to pay a private security agent to do a favour for Harry Pearce? It's as though the thousands of pounds you'll be paying me is a gift to Harry – if it works, that is, and there's no guarantee that it will. Why would you do that?"

"Because I can, Jude. And because I believe that Harry deserves to be happy. But mainly because I messed up back before Ruth first went to Cyprus. I … er …... I said something to Ruth that broke she and Harry apart, just as they were growing closer. I regret that deeply. I feel that I owe them both the opportunity of happiness."

"I hope I can do justice to this act of faith, Malcolm."

"I have absolute faith in you, Jude."

Jude sat back in her chair, and put her fingers together, steepling them in front of her face, her thumbs together under her chin. "That's what worries me, Malcolm, but I'll do my best." Jude's grey eyes settled on a point on her desk in front of where Malcolm sat, and she appeared to go into an almost trance-like state. After a minute or two, she looked up and focussed her eyes on Malcolm. "I have an even better idea, one which I may very well live to regret. You know how litigation lawyers sometimes state `no win, no fee'? How about this time I do the same? If I'm not successful, you'll not owe me a penny. Besides, I could do with a holiday in the sun."

Malcolm Wynn-Jones stood and smiled. He reached across the desk, and shook hands with his old friend. "It's a deal," he said.

* * *

_Thames House, London. Section D. Monday 3.25 pm:_

Harry Pearce sat back in his chair and quickly flicked through the top file on the pile of files left on his desk by his latest intelligence analyst. Competent, but uninspiring. Had he fifty hours in a day, he could have done better himself, and still managed to fulfil his duties as section head, _and_ manage a few hours of sleep as well. Where was an intuitive, remarkably intelligent analyst when one was needed? _Not anywhere near here_, he thought.

His deepest regret – after allowing Ruth to go into exile three years earlier – was in doing nothing to stop her returning to Cyprus after George was killed. He'd not taken her seriously when she'd told him that her home was still in Cyprus, and she'd planned to return. He'd suppressed his deep feelings of grief at the prospect of losing her again, and each day of the past eight months since she had returned to Cyprus his heart had become progressively more and more leaden. Since when had loving someone been so painful?

Harry's only contact with Ruth during the past eight months had been a brief letter he'd sent her after Jo had died. It was one of the hardest letters he'd ever had to write. It took him the best part of two days to write it and rewrite it until he was satisfied with his wording. He'd used phrases like, `she died bravely', and `the ultimate sacrifice', and `she put the lives of others ahead of her own', and knew how hollow were such words. Ruth would surely read between the lines how guilty he felt about Jo's death, and perhaps to how guilty he felt about George's death. Harry had wanted to sign off on a personal note. He'd wanted to acknowledge – even if only in a small way – how much he and Ruth had once meant to one another. He couldn't allow himself that indulgence, as he knew she'd see right through it. In the end, he settled on something friendly, but not formal. He'd written:

_I know you will be distressed by this news, and I'm sorry to again be the agent of such distress. It has never been my wish to hurt you, or to bring you pain._

_Don't hesitate to contact me if you wish further details._

_Yours always,_

_Harry._

He'd taken a long time to decide upon the most appropriate way to sign off. In the end he'd chosen to write `Yours always', because it was the truth. He belonged to her, and he always would. Even if in the likely event she never again spoke to him, his heart was, and always would be, hers.

* * *

_Polis, Cyprus. Monday (a week later) 1.42 pm:_

Jude had taken a couple of days to settle in, and to establish where to buy the best fish, and the best fresh vegetables. Before she'd left London, she had rented a small beach house online,. According to Google maps, her own beach house and that in which lived Ruth Evershed (but known on Cyprus as Ruth Gordon) were only a few hundred yards apart, both only a short walk to the beach. She'd had ample time in which to devise a strategy, and as usual, she decided to think on her feet, trust her considerable instincts, and let Fate take care of the rest.

Jude ventured out of her house by the beach, intending to walk along the beach and into the town for some supplies – bread, milk, butter, eggs. She wore a colourful, flowing kaftan with leather sandals, and slung carelessly over her shoulder was a calico shopping bag. To anyone who asked, she was Jude Moore, having a well-earned break from the private business she ran in London with her husband. Most of that was true, except that Jude Trinder and Douglas Moore had been divorced for almost two decades. For the third day in a row, she met Ruth coming the other way along the beach, and for the third day in a row, they smiled at one another and exchanged a `Good afternoon'. For the first time, just after they passed one another, Jude heard Ruth say, "Excuse me. Are you English?"

Jude stopped walking, turned, and smiled. "Yes, I'm from London. You?"

Contact.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you to all you lovely reviewers. I hope that you enjoy the remainder of this story. I have compressed what could have been a much longer and more detailed story, with a view to simply covering the salient points. This chapter is all Ruth and Jude.**  
_

* * *

_Polis, Cyprus. 6 days later, Sunday 12.10 pm_

"I'm quite relieved to have found a friend here," Ruth said, keeping her eyes downcast as she tossed the salad. "It's been quite lonely these past eight months."

"It's a beautiful place. It's hard to believe anyone could ever be lonely here."

Jude had met Ruth every day since their first brief conversation on the beach. Uncharacteristically for her, Jude had allowed Ruth to determine the nature and the frequency of their meetings. That first day – six days earlier – had been a brief exchange of information before they'd each moved on. Since then, they'd met for coffee twice, gone swimming together three times, and this day, Ruth had invited her for lunch at her small house near the beach.

Jude had not expected to like Ruth Evershed. Being the woman Harry Pearce had loved for years, she'd expected her to be just like all the other women Harry had courted and then promptly dumped in the years following his divorce from Jane. Ruth was the antithesis of all those women. She was shy, kind, highly intelligent, careful and wary of sharing too much about herself, and most surprising, she seemed to lack confidence. Harry's women had always been brashly confident, and sexually aggressive. Jude simply couldn't imagine Ruth ever behaving in that way, which meant that either Harry had mellowed, or in the time since she had worked with him he had undergone an emotional renaissance …... perhaps both.

Ruth and Jude sat on the front verandah overlooking the sea, their lunch of shellfish and salads and white wine sitting on the table between them.

"I told you before that I was a widow," Ruth said carefully, "but that's not entirely true. George and I were not even married."

"You told me he died in London. How did that happen?"

Ruth was quiet as she painstakingly picked the meat out of the crab claws. Jude was worried that she'd already stepped over an invisible line. She also knew one of her skills was in knowing where that line was. She watched Ruth as she picked at the crab meat. "He was murdered," she said at last. "There's much more to it than that, but that is all I'll tell you."

"Ruth, I'm sorry. I don't want to be the one opening old wounds."

Again, Ruth waited a while before she answered, as she broke open another two crab claws. "You know," she said at last, "the worst thing is that George's death was not really painful for me. I know, that makes me sound so hard, so …. so unfeeling. It was shocking, and traumatic, but not all that painful in the end. The worst thing is that I failed to tell him some things about myself. My history, who I really was …..."

"God, now you'll be telling me you're a spy!" Jude had chosen her words carefully. She'd wanted to see how Ruth would react.

"That's not all that far from the truth," Ruth said quietly. "George died in violent circumstances, and a friend of mine ensured that Nico was saved from a similar fate. The reasons for this are …... are private, and I won't say any more about why and how he died."

"You must miss him."

"I do, but it's Nico I miss most."

"But aren't you living back in Cyprus to be near him?" Jude had to concentrate hard on not tapping a drum beat on the table with her fingers, something she tended to do whenever she was especially nervous.

"I haven't been allowed near him. His father's family have forbidden it."

"So …... Ruth ….. why are you still here? You live alone. You have no friends apart from me, and I must return soon to London, and you are unable to see your stepson. How is that a good way to live? Surely you have friends …... a life back in London."

"I ….." Ruth hesitated, taking a sip of her wine. "I feel that I …... need to be here. This is …. my …."

"Your penance?"

Ruth's eyes moved suddenly from gazing over the blue of the sea to looking accusingly into Jude's grey eyes. "What made you use that word? You said `penance'. Why would you say that?"

"I don't know, really. No … that's not true. I know this is a beautiful place, the perfect holiday destination, but you're hardly enjoying yourself, Ruth. You're hiding yourself away from the world, and …..."

"Do you think that this place is not the world? Do you think that London is somehow _better_ than here?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Perhaps I should go." Jude pushed herself away from the table and sighed.

"Please don't go," Ruth said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard. "I'm enjoying your company. It's so …... comforting to be with someone from home, to hear a familiar accent. I like hearing about what's going on there."

"You miss it."

Ruth sighed heavily, and put her wine glass down before she spoke. "I miss it, yes, and I miss …... people there …... but I can't go back."

"Ruth, I'm sure that's not true. I know people. I'm sure we can ….."

"Have people silenced?" Again, Ruth's eyes flashed as she looked at Jude.

"No, but my former husband and I have a security company. Most of our clients are businesses and corporations, but we can also look into …..."

"God, _no_. I just need to stay here and …."

"I have an idea," said Jude, deciding it was time she changed tactics. "Let's take the bus to Paphos and see what the library is like."

"You do realise that the books are mostly in Greek or Turkish."

"Sure," said Jude with more confidence than she felt, "but you'll be able to read them, won't you?"

"How do you know?" Once again, Ruth looked wary, and she wondered – and not for the first time – if she was wary because this woman had so easily managed to gain her confidence, or because she was a dead ringer for Juliet Shaw!

"I saw the books on the bookshelf beside your table inside. I can't read any of them, but obviously you can."

"Okay," said Ruth, smiling at last, "that's a date."

"Tomorrow, then," said Jude.

"Okay. Tomorrow."

* * *

_Polis, Cyprus. Wednesday 8.03 pm:_

Jude poured herself another glass of local wine – something of a rough red, but eminently quaffable - wondering whether her approach with Ruth was ever going to work. She steepled the fingers of each hand, and bounced them against one another, like a spider on a mirror. Her aim had been to gradually bring Ruth back into the land of the living, to show her how enjoyable, how _useful_ her life could be were she to again join the human race. She had been attempting to reconnect Ruth with her purpose, her passion for life, but it was proving to be rather hit and miss. What she saw on Ruth's face each day was the same level of resignation. She was almost to the point of going back to London, having to announce to Malcolm that she had failed. It had been a nice holiday, a pleasant interlude, but the feeling of failure was not something she was used to, and she was reluctant to give up. _Just a little while longer_, she thought.

Which is when Ruth came bursting through her door without knocking. The younger woman stood just inside her living room door, her hair in disarray, and her eyes wild, her pupils dilated. Jude just stood, wine bottle poised to pour, not sure of what to do next.

"Drink, Ruth?" she said at last.

"Yes please," Ruth replied, taking a big breath, and then collapsing in a chair across the table from where Jude had been sitting.

"No-one's after you, I hope."

"Not yet, anyway," Ruth said, taking a large gulp of her wine. "I've only just left the police station."

Jude sat down, and rubbed her chin before speaking. "Tell me what's going on, Ruth. There's more to this than you're telling me."

"I tried to see Nico today."

"But haven't you been told …...?"

"Yes, but I was his mother for a year and a half. I looked after him, I loved him like he was my own. I'd been told to stay away from Nico's school. His aunt takes him to school each day, and picks him up. I thought if I got there early, and I waited for him outside his classroom, that I could ….. Jude, he saw me and he began to scream and call out, and he called for his teacher, who then called the police..." By this time, tears were flowing down Ruth's cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "When Nico's aunt turned up, she made such a fuss, called me a murderer and a liar. Jude …... you should have seen the look on Nico's face. He hates me. He hates me …... And then the police took me in for questioning."

Ruth folded her arms on the table, and let her head drop on to them while she sobbed out her sadness, her tears rolling down her face and on to the surface of the table. To provide a small measure of comfort, Jude put one of her hands lightly on Ruth's back while the younger woman's considerable control fell apart.

It took another twenty minutes for Ruth to cry herself out, during which time Jude rubbed her back, and tried to think of a way through this impasse. Jude knew intuitively that it would be a bad idea to leave Ruth with the image of her former step-son's fear of her.

"It's best you not try to contact him again, Ruth. It's clear he's been told a story about you which is not true. In time, he'll remember the time before his father died, and how kind you were to him. There's nothing to be gained by staying here any longer. There are people in London who miss you, and who long to see you again."

Ruth lifted her head, and wiped her face on her sleeve. Her eyes were red and puffy, but they were still the same deep, clear blue, and she directed them at Jude with laser intensity. "You know Harry, don't you? Was he the one who sent you?"


	3. Chapter 3

"I used to work with him, but no – he didn't send me. He doesn't even know I'm here."

"You were _MI5_?"

Jude nodded, smiling a small smile.

"You don't look anything like MI5."

"Nor do you, Ruth, but you are."

"I was."

"You can be again. If you want, that is."

"So who was it sent you?"

"Malcolm Wynn-Jones."

"Bloody Malcolm. He's a lovely man, but I wish he'd mind his own bloody business."

"You don't mean that, Ruth."

"Perhaps not, but …... Does Harry know about this …... about you trying to con me into returning to London? I'm assuming this is work to you, rather than a holiday in the sun."

"Malcolm hasn't told Harry, so unless he's psychic, he doesn't know. And this _was_ work, until I met you, and since then it has been more like a holiday."

Ruth looked about to speak, but silently shook her head, and wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. "Do you have any tissues?" Ruth asked, and when Jude handed her a box, Ruth went through around a dozen tissues before she again spoke. "I sometimes wish they didn't care so much. Do you know that Harry sent me a letter telling me about the death of one of the young female field agents with whom I'd been quite close? Don't you find that rather odd?"

"I find that information incompatible with the Harry I used to work with back in the late 80's and 90's. Which must mean Harry has changed. Malcolm told me Harry loves you."

"Well, I wish he didn't bloody love me! I can't handle him loving me."

Jude dragged her chair close to Ruth's, and she lay her hand on the younger woman's arm.

"Do you know," Ruth continued, "that he signed off that letter with, `_Yours always, Harry_.' Yours always! What if I don't want him to be mine?"

"I suspect you do, though, Ruth, and that's the problem, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Ruth looked at Jude with startled eyes.

Jude sighed, suddenly exhausted by the emotional tension in the room. She rubbed both her palms down the length of her face in an attempt to clear her head. For someone who was always able to control her working and personal environment, being in Ruth Evershed's presence was proving to be a strain. "I suspect it's one of several reasons you've been hiding out here in Cyprus. When you were in London when George was killed, how did Harry seem to you? Would you say he was pleased to see you? Did he favour you in any way?"

"It's often hard to tell with Harry. He keeps his feelings bottled …... but, yes, he made a point of meeting me outside work a few times ….. all the time he was seeing was I alright, did I need anything …..."

"He didn't have to do that."

"What did Malcolm tell you about Harry? Malcolm – somehow, I don't know how – Malcolm knows everything. He always seems to know how Harry is."

"He told me a little of your history with one another, but he did add that Harry misses you terribly. Why don't you want Harry to love you, Ruth?"

Ruth put her hands over her face, but instead of crying, she sighed heavily. She slowly pulled her hands away. "Because I'm sure I'm not deserving of his love," she said quietly, "and he loves me so totally, with no holding back. Harry never does anything by half measures. It's all or nothing."

Jude found herself drumming her fingers on the table, so she stopped the movement by placing her other hand over her restless fingers. "You do have a choice, Ruth. You have to acknowledge that. Your two main choices as this currently stands are that you stay here, and whenever you try to see Nico the same thing happens as happened today. In time, you'll forget your life in London, and you'll even forget why you are here. Your other choice is to go back and face what you left behind there. You can't keep running from Harry, or any feelings you may have for him. It doesn't take a genius to work out that your future lies back there. Cyprus is your past. You've finished with Cyprus, and more importantly, Cyprus has finished with you." Jude emptied the bottle of wine into their glasses, ensuring that they each had an equal amount of wine. "Ruth, I'm going to ask you a question now which I want you to consider very carefully before you answer …... What would you rather …... to live in isolation, in a distant country, denying that Harry has feelings for you, knowing that he goes to bed each night thinking of you, and all the while wishing you were with him …... _or_ …... would you rather take a risk by going back to England, going back to work – the work which Malcolm Wynn-Jones tells me you do brilliantly – and _perhaps_ opening yourself to the possibility of having a loving relationship with Harry? Which of those scenarios sounds more reasonable?"

Ruth gave a slight laugh. "You've missed your calling, Jude. You should have been a novelist."

"Not at all. I've no imagination, me. The two options I described to you are clear to me, and real, as they must be to you. What is it stopping you from packing your bags tonight, and flying back home tomorrow?"

"I really want to – do you know that? I really do. This place – this island is eating me up. Everywhere I look I see someone who looks like George, someone who is a relative of his, either directly or by marriage. What if I haven't served enough time in …..."

"Purgatory? You're doing that to yourself, Ruth. There is no divinely determined jury who sit in judgement of you, deciding your fate according to your past actions. You're human, Ruth. You've made mistakes. Show me one person who hasn't."

Ruth looked up at her with wide eyes while she thought about what Jude had said.

* * *

_Thames House, Section D. Saturday 7.40 pm:_

Harry had not meant to stay late on the Grid, but if he wanted to have tomorrow off, and spend some time attempting to relax away from work, then he'd best spend at least another hour catching up on paper work. He was tired, but not the kind of bone-numbing physical tiredness that he normally felt at the end of a long day. He was tired from carrying so much on his shoulders, and from locking away his true feelings inside his heart. There was a time when a late night on the Grid would have been something he looked forward to with relish. There was a time – long ago now – when working late at night had meant that he would have been alone with Ruth, with she at her desk, and he in his office. They would steal glances at one another, smiling when one of them caught the other looking. It had lifted his spirits and his hopes, giving him the energy to make it through another day. It had been over three years since they had been able to share the luxury of an empty Grid late at night, and Harry felt sad, bereft at the prospect it would never happen again.

Suddenly his desk phone rang.

"Harry Pearce," he answered, hoping it wouldn't be the Home Secretary.

"It's Steve from front door security, Sir Harry," a voice said. "We have someone here who says she knows you, and she wants to see you. She hasn't a pass, but she has a call sign. I thought it sounded dodgy," Steve said, lowering his voice, "so I told her to leave, as it's after hours, but she said she knows you'll be working in your office. She has an English accent, but I know that the IRA have -"

"Ask him to log into the CCTV," Harry heard a female voice in the background. The skin on the back of Harry's neck suddenly began to tingle, and he felt his stomach do a little flip. _Surely not. Surely it can't be her._

"Did you hear that, Sir Harry?" Steve said.

"I heard it, and I'm logging on now." Once he'd logged into the Thames House CCTV system, and scrolled down to the front desk, he saw a familiar face looking up at the CCTV camera, her face an unreadable mask. "Send her up, Steve. I know her."

"Fine. I'll do that." Steve had only been working at Thames house for six months. He hadn't known that Sir Harry Pearce had girls come in while he was at work. That was another of those secrets he'd have to keep under his proverbial hat, although this woman was a little long in the tooth to be classed a `girl', and she wasn't even dressed like a prossy. In Steve's estimation, Sir Harry seemed to have rather pedestrian tastes in women.

Harry wasn't sure whether he should get up and meet her, or stay seated until she arrived. He was still undecided when she appeared in his doorway, her hand lifted ready to knock. He rose from his chair, and walked the short distance to stand in front of her.

"Hello, Ruth," he said. "It's good to see you."


	4. Chapter 4

"Hello Harry," she replied, her eyes never leaving his.

She put one hand out in front of her, not sure what she had in mind, when Harry took her hand and lifted it to his lips. She watched, speechless, as he pressed his lips against her knuckles, and then turned her hand around so that his lips rested in her palm. Ruth felt a shiver of pleasure ripple through her body, sending a tingling sensation to all her nerve endings …... _all_ of them … _everywhere_. She took a step closer to him, close enough that she could smell the scent that was his alone, and with that, all her old feelings for him rushed back, past and present overlapping as the tide within her turned, feelings of love and longing mingling with fear of becoming too close to him. She took a deep breath.

"Oh, Harry," she said quietly, "I've missed you …... so much."

Harry lifted his mouth from her hand, and still holding her hand in his, he reached towards her and put his lips on hers. It was a soft kiss, an hello kiss, but with promise of there being more. Ruth slid her free hand around his neck and drew him closer. To hell with caution. Caution, hesitation, playing it safe ….. none of that had served her well where Harry was concerned. She was free and single, and so was he. What else was there to know?

The kiss lasted a long time, but Harry remained in control throughout. Eventually he lifted his head and looked at her. "Come home with me, Ruth."

She nodded. "I have nowhere else to go."

* * *

Harry drove them home in his own car. They were silent for most of the time, apart from Ruth reassuring him that she was back for good, and looking for a job.

"I'm not going back to Cyprus. At least, not in the foreseeable future. I was there hoping to see Nico, but …... I wasn't allowed to see him."

Hearing the sadness in her voice, Harry reached his hand across to her and grasped her fingers. Without taking his eyes from the road, he brought her fingers to his lips, and held them there for a long moment. Ruth thought she saw his lips say the words, `I love you', but she may have been either mistaken, or lost within a romantic cloud of her own imagining.

At Harry's house, he showed her the spare room, a light, airy room with a double bed, a wardrobe, and a dresser. He left her to settle in, shower and change, while he prepared a simple meal of pasta and red wine. They ate almost in silence, although the air was highly charged with words and actions yet to be expressed.

Ruth said goodnight to Harry by reaching up to him and kissing his cheek, saying she was tired. In the spare room, she lay under her duvet, listening while he got ready for bed. When she heard him close his bedroom door, she checked the clock beside her bed, and saw that it was barely 10.30. This would have to be the earliest Harry had retired to bed in a long time. Ruth lay in bed for another half hour, and finding sleep elusive, she decided it was time she took the biggest risk of all.

She climbed out of bed, and put on her dressing gown, not bothering to close the tie. When she reached Harry's bedroom door, she waited and listened. She heard nothing from the other side, so she very quietly opened the door and crept into the room, carefully closing the door behind her. She stood for a long moment, needing to give her eyes time to adjust to the dimness in the room. She could make out the lump of Harry's body on the side of the bed closest to the door. _Why doesn't he lie in the middle of the bed like normal people? Why have a large bed if you don't make the most of it?_ She crept around the bed to the far side, allowed her dressing gown to slide off her shoulders to the floor, and then slid under the duvet, dressed in pink pyjama pants and a white camisole (which was almost transparent in the right kind of light.)

"What took you so long?" said a gruff voice from somewhere within the lump on the other side of the bed.

"God, Harry, I was sure you'd be asleep."

"So why did you come in to join me if you thought I'd be asleep."

"I …. I just ….."

"_Breathe_, Ruth. Then take your time. I won't bite."

As instructed, Ruth took a deep breath. "I just wanted to lie in bed close to you. I didn't want you to think …."

"That you wanted my body for anything other than extra warmth."

How was it that Harry could render her speechless with just one sentence spoken?

"It's not that I don't want your body, Harry, because I do. I always have..."

Ruth's eyes had by now adjusted to the darkness, and she was aware of his eyes on her, gazing at her, staring at her, challenging her to say more.

"I just wanted to lie next to you while I slept. We've been apart for too long. I'm trying to fix that, but if you don't want …..."

Harry pulled himself into a sitting position, pushing the duvet back as he did. "Of course I want you here, Ruth. Why do you think I asked you to come home with me?"

"But you then showed me to your spare room," she said, her tone one of complaint.

"What would you have thought of me had I said to you: _Come back to my place, and share my bed_?"

"I would have been very happy had you said that."

He reached his hand out to Ruth, and she put her hand in his. "Come here, Ruth. We have quite a lot of catching up to do."

She slid across the bed, and lay close to him. He pulled her closer, and held her with one arm around her shoulders. They lay together – in Harry's bed – for a long time. It felt wonderful – safe, warm, and familiar – and it smelled equally as delicious – Harry's smell ….. on him, on the bedclothes, and soon to be on her, hopefully on every square inch of her skin. Ruth reached up and put her lips on his. He was careful with her, kissing her gently, his hands carefully moving over her back and shoulders. Ruth could sense his restraint through the way his fingers moved lightly across her body, never staying on one spot for long. This was not how she'd imagined he'd touch her. Harry was a man of high passions, and she'd imagined his touch to be passionate and possessive.

"We don't have to do anything tonight, Ruth. We have plenty of time. I just thought you might want to talk. We have quite a lot to talk about, don't we?"

"Do you have an early start tomorrow, Harry?"

"No, I'm taking the day off. Barring national emergencies, I'll be here all day tomorrow. With you."

"Then, we can talk tomorrow. Tonight I thought we might become acquainted in other ways. London and all its residents could be destroyed in a nuclear attack at first light. I've waited long enough for you, I don't want us to die not ever having …... you know. Besides, we sometimes tie ourselves in knots when we talk."

"Only sometimes?"

"All the time, then." Ruth looked up at Harry shyly. "You do want me, don't you?"

His reply was a deep and toe-curling kiss, heavy with longing and passion. When she felt his fingers slip under her camisole to caress her breast, she smiled into his kiss, her tongue tangling with his. She felt more alive, more present in her body in that moment than she had felt in years, and she knew she was exactly where she needed to be. She would not leave this man ever again.

* * *

_Thames House, The Grid. Monday. 9.34 am:_

When Ruth arrived at Thames House, Phillip, on front door security, welcomed her with a wide smile.

"So good to have you back, Ms Evershed. Sir Harry told me you'd be in this morning."

"Thank you, Phillip. I'm happy to be back."

When she stepped on to the Grid, she looked around her, seeing unfamiliar faces. No-one noticed her arrival. When she turned towards Harry's office, she watched him as he watched her through the window. He smiled at her, and motioned with his head for her to join him. By the time she was standing next to him, he had a manilla envelope in his hand.

"This is for you, Ruth. All is forgiven. Welcome back."

Harry looked at her with longing in his eyes, but he didn't act on it, and for that Ruth was relieved.

"My identity," Ruth said quietly, as she opened the envelope to find her passport, bank account details, drivers' license, and tax details all in the name of Ruth Elizabeth Evershed. She checked each document, running the tips of her fingers over the embossing, taking it all in, ensuring that her name and date of birth was correct. She felt the tears forming, and was annoyed with herself for her lack of control.

Harry reached into his coat pocket and took out a clean handkerchief. He pushed it into her hand, and with it she wiped her eyes. "I love you," he said quietly, leaning close to her.

"And I love you," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

"I know you do," he said, just as quietly. "Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone."

With his hand resting gently at the small of her back, Harry led her out on to the Grid.

* * *

_Thames embankment. Thursday 7.52 am:_

Malcolm saw her before she saw him. Jude Trinder looked wonderful – tanned, relaxed. Her jaunt to Cyprus seemed to have agreed with her. Her dark brown hair shone, and her waves bounced as she turned her head towards him.

"Malcolm!" she said when she saw him, sliding across her bench to make room for him. "From your face I take it you've heard."

"Yes," he said, smiling at her. "You should get out and about more often. I expected it would take you at least a month to budge Ruth. I forgot to tell you how stubborn she can be."

"Yes, I saw elements of her stubbornness, but I think I succeeded because I genuinely like her. She's a lovely person, and by the end of the first week there, I considered her a friend. Harry is a lucky man. If he doesn't mess it up with her, he can look forward to a long and interesting life with her. I hear she's moved in with him already."

"I think it's just easier that way, so she doesn't have to look for a place of her own to live. She's been through enough without that added complication. I have to thank you for how well you performed your duties. I was right, you _were_ the right person for the job."

Jude reached down and brushed an invisible speck from her tailored skirt, and then her fingers began a regular, mesmerising circling on the material covering her thigh. "There were times when I wondered what I was doing there. In the end, Ruth provided her own reason for leaving. I'll tell you more about it when I have more time."

"Now, to the money," Malcolm said carefully. "Perhaps you can email me your invoice?"

"You know, Malcolm, I've given this a lot of thought. I had a lovely time in Cyprus. I had a break – an unexpected holiday – and I met a woman whom I now class as a friend. I think were you to take me out to dinner – somewhere expensive, of course – then we can call it quits. If you're happy with that, then I'm happy."

Malcolm took a moment as he stared across the Thames. "This will be the first time I've taken out a woman since …... oh, such a long time, but I'd love to take you to dinner, Jude."

"Don't get weird, Malcolm, it's not a date. It's payment for services."

"Now _that_ is ….. er … awkward. It sounds like you …... er ..."

"Yes, it does, doesn't it? I won't tell if you don't. What do you say?"

"I'm happy with that. Do you like French food, Jude?"

"Love it. How about _The Square_?"

"I was going to suggest it. I look forward to it."

"I do too, Malcolm. You have my mobile number?"

"I do. I'll call you."

They sat in satisfied silence for a few more minutes, before they again parted to go about their respective days.

_Fin_

* * *

_**A/N: I hope you enjoyed. My next fic will be up early in the new year.**_

_**I'm currently conjuring another HR story in which Malcolm again engages Jude's services. All in my head at the moment.**_


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